When You Were Young
by superFREAKINwholock
Summary: When John's life collides with a boy named Sherlock Holmes, he didn't know what fate had in store for them. From breaking the law to 'coincidental' hospital trips, his life wasn't what you would call normal. John never knew what hit him on that fateful day when he was young. Slash. Teen!Lock. Smut later on. Feels, that sort of thing. Swearing rarely.
1. Chapter 1

John Watson wasn't very interesting at all. He wasn't particularly good at sport and he was average academically in almost every subject except Biology and English in which he excelled. Even his height wasn't very interesting (Slightly under the national average incase one was wondering). But still, Sherlock Holmes found every inch of him fascinating.

Even the way he met the small, unassuming teenager that was John Watson was fascinating.

* * *

"Ah shit! I'm going to be late for school. Why the hell didn't mum wake me up this morning?"

John Watson stared at his alarm clock with disgust. It was almost as reliable as his mother.

"Shit." He exclaimed once more.

Getting out of the bed he quickly grabbed his clothes and threw them on, scruffily doing his tie up, and forgoing a shower to make up for lost time. Soon after he popped some toast in the toaster and went to collect his bag and shoes from his bedroom. Coming back, he found that his toast was ready so he buttered it and took a bite. He relished the taste. Grabbing the keys from the counter, John hurried out of the door and onto the road.

Walking as fast as he could, John scoffed down his toast.

Why on earth did he have to be late? He had a mock exam 2nd period and if he didn't get there in time he would be disqualified and maybe even moved down a few sets. And his revision didn't exactly go to plan either. All he had to do was write down a few notes and then he would be fine. But no. His mother had to sprout the fact that she was going away for a week and that he would have to look after himself since his sister had to bugger off to her girl friend's last year and forget to come back at all.

Looking to his left he saw an alley and decided to dash down it, and since nobody could see him, he ran as fast as he could. It wouldn't matter if he got sweaty, he had gym just before lunch anyway, therefore he could have a sneaky shower.

He glanced down at his watch to check the time.

But he wasn't watching his feet. And then he tripped.

Instead of falling onto the cold hard ground, he fell onto something soft and very much alive.

Opening his eyes he saw a boy with brown, almost black hair underneath him. John was almost straddling the poor boy and crushing him with his over bearing weight.

Gazing at the boy's face, John forgot the he was in a rush, forgot that he needed to get to school.

Beneath John, the boy winced in pain and tried to wriggle from the prison that was John. But John didn't notice.

A cough from the boy under him caught his attention and he quickly got off the raven-haired boy.

John offered a strong hand towards him.

Embarrassed, the boy grabbed John's hand and straightened his coat out.

His coat looked really expensive but now it had a lot of rips, it was ruined. John immediately felt guilty.

"Sorry." John apologised, "I didn't see you there. I was in a rush to school and saying that, I must go." He tried to push past the boy but the boy held him back.

"John, that's your name, right? Surprised?" The boy quipped when he saw the surprised reaction on John's face, "I also know that your sister is an alcoholic, your mother is almost never home, you had toast for breakfast, and you have an exam today. Thank you for your time, and I shall let you go now. I need to sample some mud."

The boy tried push past John but John held him by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes.

"How do you know that? I never told anyone that. And while you're explaining your little trick I will check your back, you fell pretty hard there. I know I'm only sixteen but my dad was an-"

"Army doctor, yes, he also died in action. But you're over it because you think that it's an honourable way to die. Stupid." the strange boy interjected.

John looked over to the boy in awe, "That was extraordinary. What's your name?"

The boy's eyes widened for a second, then his expression became neutral just as fast, "Sherlock Holmes."

"John Watson- well you probably already knew that. Come on my house isn't that far away. I shouldn't have to get any supplies."

"I gathered that. And why don't you want to go to school any more? You were in quite a big rush."

"Well I'm going to be late for my mock exam and since I didn't want to take it in the first place I would rather help someone else."

John started to walk up the alley and supposed that Sherlock would followed after him. But when he didn't, he looked back concerned. Looking down at the ground, Sherlock gingerly took a step forward. He winced. Then he moved the other foot. He winced. Another step. He fell.

John rushed to Sherlock's side and helped him back to his feet. Moving slowly, John put his arm around Sherlock's shoulders and let Sherlock lean into him.

The time it took to get to John's house was considerably longer. Every step was agonisingly slow and painful. And by the time they reached the house John was out of breath and Sherlock in immense pain.

John pulled open the door after letting go of Sherlock.

As they stumbled inside, John closed the door and led Sherlock up the stairs and into his bedroom.

He sat Sherlock down on the small bed and ordered him to roll on his back.

"If it's okay, can I just take your shirt off so I can see the damage?"

A grunt was heard from the mop of dark curly hair. John presumed it meant yes before pulling the hem of the shirt carefully over Sherlock's body.

John's eyes widened as he saw the extent of the bruising on the boys back. Most of the bruising was old, only some of them new. Nevertheless, John remained silent and attended the wounds dutifully, carefully analysing the back for signs of further injury.

After getting a good look, John told Sherlock that he could sit up.

"It looks like you just bruised your back. I'm afraid that you won't be able to walk very far. Do you want me to call a cab and get you back home?"

Sherlock huffed and tried to stand up, grimacing in pain, "I'm fine. I don't need help. And I'm most certainly not going home."

Shaking his head, John gently held Sherlock onto the bed, "If you don't want to go home then you're going to have to stay here. My mother-"

"Isn't going to be home for about a week. I looked on your fridge as I walked past the kitchen. Obvious really."

Taken aback slightly, John sighed, "Okay, just take a look in my wardrobe to find something to wear while I get you some ice for your back. Your ribs look a bit worse for wear meaning that they could be bruised slightly which would explain why you're in pain but if you feel up to it, then maybe we can go out and collect mud samples later."

A grunt of possible agreement was heard from the mop of hair and John exited to go to the kitchen.

John stepped outside the house with Sherlock in tow. The taller of the two boys looked odd wearing the big jumper and shabby coat but it was warm and comfortable. Looking up, John found Sherlock's gaze drifting around the street, as if he was looking for some sort of danger.

"Look, a murderer isn't going to just pop up and kill you in the street. It would cause a whole bunch of problems. Now come on the park's this way." John said, tugging at Sherlock's sleeve.

Stumbling after him, Sherlock groped the air to balance himself, managing to grasp John's hand in the process. Abashedly, he looked down at their joined hands and back up to Sherlock's face. The grip on his hand was still tight and he couldn't pull away from it. Staring at Sherlock's wild expression, he let the poor boy take the comfort of the hand holding and decided to walk down the street.

He didn't factor in that his neighbours were watching.

Strolling along at a comfortable pace hand in hand, Sherlock couldn't help but notice that, for the first time in his life, he was enjoying being in the company of another person. He didn't know what it was but the warm stirring within his chest made him smile and forget the pain in his back. But despite the new feeling being unknown, he wasn't scared by it. He was curious. He wanted to explore the feeling more. To know it, to understand it.

Clenching John's hand, Sherlock lent into John's shoulder, "Is it long to the park?"

Chuckling, John replied, "No, it's just down the road here. And quit your whining, it's only been five minutes."

"Fine."

The park was in the middle of a huge playing field. A group of rebellious teenagers were smoking in the far corner and John immediately let go of Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock looked down at the loss of contact, but didn't question it as he saw the group of boy's turn around and stare at them.

"Collect your mud samples then, I'll just wait on the swings." John said awkwardly, turning to walk to the play area.

Strolling to the opposite side of the park, Sherlock bent down patting his pockets- but the sample tubes weren't there. He sighed and got up, wandering over to where John was, happily swinging on the swings.

He sat down beside his new friend, "I forgot the sample containers."he admitted.

"Really? All that intellect and you can't even remember where you left your sample things." John quipped.

Looking down at his feet, Sherlock blushed, "I had to delete some things. And can I use your phone? I need to get my brother to come and pick me up. It's getting late and I don't want him to worry."

John nodded and handed Sherlock his phone.

After phoning what John presumed was his brother, Sherlock turned back to John.

"My brother will be here in five minutes. I presume it is alright to exchange clothes tomorrow." Sherlock stated rather than asked.

John was about to reply when a huge black car rolled up to the side of the playing field.

The curly haired boy got up and left John by the swings. Raising his hand, he waved.

"Bye, John."

"Bye." John replied, in awe of the boy's eccentric ways.

Once at home, John couldn't stop smiling. Even though he had broken school rules in which would have serious repercussions, he really enjoyed having Sherlock around for company. Sure he could be annoying and blunt at times, but he was quite endearing too. Like the way he sought out John's hand for comfort and the way he blushed when he was ashamed at forgetting something. Things like that, things that made him human.

He just wished Sherlock could have stayed longer.

A buzz knocked him from his thoughts and John fumbled in his pockets for his phone. Picking it up he saw that he had a text from Molly, his best and only friend.

-Where the hell were you today!? I know you weren't sick because you always text me when your ill. Please, was it your mum again? Miss you xx-

He replied in earnest.

-I was with someone. I bumped into them and they needed my help. I will tell you more at school.-

Turning his phone off John made a cup of tea and disappeared up to his bedroom.

A/N

This is a rewrite of my first ever multi-chapter, I'm not an amazing writer but when I first wrote this it didn't flow, it was very jumpy and I ended it abruptly without it making much sense. So I bring to you the new and improved version of the story with continuity and proper punctuation! Okay now lets get on to the proper A/N...

Title is from The Killers _When You Were Young_ I think it suits where I'm going to go with this and it should make sense at the end of the story.

I hope you enjoy the rest of the fic and if you read the first version of this then I hope this one is much better.

I shall update ASAP (which basically means when I get time hehe)

Please read, review, and favourite! All constructive criticism is welcome, I need to improve. :)


	2. Chapter 2

The next day John was back at school. But before he got through the school gates he was bombarded with questions about where he had been and who he had been with. Apparently some of the regular truants had seen him with a mysterious guy in a park. Though John didn't answer the demanding questions, instead he was pulled from the crowd of students by Molly, barging everyone out of the way.

Once they were in their form room she pounced on him with a bone crushing hug and a hushed apology in his ear. Relinquishing her anaconda like hold, she took a step back and looked him in the eye.

"I hope you're happy, I made you popular. So, before you tell anyone else, tell me the whole story first." Molly demanded, then added, "I missed you."

Brow furrowing, John angrily replied, "I am not happy you made me popular. Not happy at all. In fact, I'm furious. There is even more of a chance of the teachers finding out I skipped school now. Look, I was with a boy called Sherlock, he should be coming back around my house tonight to collect his clothes-"

"What the hell? Did you have sex with him?" Molly interjected eyes widening.

"No," John said in disbelief, "No. He hurt his back and he needed a change of clothes. I'm not gay. We've been over this before, Mark was just a stalker. Anyway I took him to the park to collect mud samples but he forgot his vile things and then he got picked up by his brother. Nothing strange about that. Look the bell's about to go and I can't be late today."

John hiked his bag up onto his shoulder and rushed out of the room, ignoring the hurt look on Molly's face, she knew when he wasn't telling the whole truth.

Walking into Maths class, he realized that there would be a supply teacher so he quickly bagged a seat at the back of the class room.

Sluggishly, the other students piled their way into the class room, conveniently sitting in front of him so he could use his phone.

John knew that Sherlock had put his number into his phone (he checked yesterday), so he whipped it out and sent Sherlock a quick text.

-I'm really bored, can we text? x J-

He decided to sign his name to stop any confusion.

A response came through quickly. John peered over the desk to see if anyone was watching and read the message.

-Yes, we can text although I don't know why you needed to ask. I'm coming by your house at around four I have some news to tell you x S-

-what news, cant you just tell me now x J-

John quickly picked up his pen and started to type up some notes as the teacher strolled around to his desk. When she had gone he returned his attentions to his phone.

-too much to tell you in a text. Can I see you at lunch? X S-

-Yeah sure, is it private? X J-

-Yes. But it wont affect you much x S-

- Okay, It was fun yesterday, I can repair the coat if you like x J-

John resurfaced from his phone again to check for onlookers, but finding none he returned to his phone.

-I have plenty of coats, I'm sure one won't go amiss. And yes it was fun yesterday x S-

John was about to reply when a ticking sound invaded his ears. Looking up he saw the supply teacher staring at him expectantly.

"Give me the phone and I expect you in detention tomorrow. Or you can keep your phone, but you must read your texts out loud." The teacher offered.

With baited breath the class waited for John's answer.

"I'll just read the texts, everyone wants to hear them."

Dutifully, John read the texts out word for word. He didn't leave anything out.

Sighing in relief, John sat down and put his phone away, actually concentrating on the lesson.

The next lesson went smoothly, no one asked him questions and he was quite content.

At break no one had really heard about the incident so he was fine with just avoiding Molly for the time being- but lunch was a whole other ball game.

He was bombarded with questions so he successfully slipped into the boys toilets and sat in the cubical. Scrambling for his phone, he saw that Sherlock had texted him multiple times.

-Are you there John? x-

-Are you okay?x-

-scratch that, I'm coming at lunch. Meet me at the back of the sports hall. x-

John sighed and went to see if there was anyone outside the toilet. Pressing his face against door it was shoved open and fell onto the grimy floor.

Gazing up John was met with Sherlock's face.

"Thought you'd be here." Sherlock started, locking the door, "When you weren't at the Spor-"

He was cut off by John pushing him backwards in a warm embrace.

Puzzled Sherlock reciprocated but questioned, "Why are you hugging me?"

"Because when I go out there I will be mobbed with questions and I was publicly humiliated in class and I don't feel like facing them and I need a friendly face I can trust since anything I tell Molly seems to spread around the school like wild fire. I just need a hug. You wouldn't understand."

John hugged slightly harder and Sherlock hissed in pain slightly.

Pulling away immediately John phased into doctor mode.

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to hurt you." John apologised.

"It's okay. My back is still healing." Sherlock reassured.

Nodding John offered, "Do you want me to take a look? Just take your shirt off so I can check it. You did lock the door, right?"

Sherlock bowed his head and shrugged his coat off and threw off his shirt. Bending over the sink, Sherlock winced as John prodded and poked at his scrapes and grazes. Pleased with the way the back was healing John took a look at the older bruises on his pale back. They couldn't have been caused by the fall and they looked pretty deep. The bruises also looked like they were administered by someone who knew what they were doing. But he didn't question it. There was no need.

Stepping back, John mentioned for Sherlock to dress himself.

While dressing himself, Sherlock explained why he turned up, "I have heard recently that a body has been found near here and it has a few interesting markings on it. I figured out that it would be beneficial for me to go an take a look since it has been a while since I have solved a good murder but I need someone to help me into the morgue- no one, no matter how hard I try to persuade them will give me access to the body- apparently because I am too young. Now I need your help to break in to the morgue. Usually I would try to do this on my own, but I have had to enlist the help of my brother so I doubted that I could do it alone. Of course you need to wear something black and tight, but I have that covered, for we shall have to go shopping.

Suddenly the door was pushed open and the same supply teacher from first period burst through the door pushing Sherlock onto John making them trip onto the floor with a thud.

Landing in a tangled heap on the floor John lifted his head to see the teacher staring at them with extreme distaste.

Her heel clicked on the floor as the boys struggled to get up.

Throwing his coat on Sherlock stepped forward to push past the teacher but was prohibited by John catching his arm.

"What on Earth do you think you are doing, boys? I thought you might have been a bot of trouble when I caught you texting in class but I didn't think that you would stoop to this level of... of... I expect you by the Principle's Office in exactly five minutes." The teacher stormed out of the dingy toilet.

Sherlock looked at John, "Well that was tedious. Come along John. I don't see the point of going to see the Principle, she'll only tell us things we already know. I have more important things to show you."

John looked to Sherlock, head tilted at an angle and lips pursed, "Hang on a second. You mean we're going to skip school again?"

"Yes, now stop stating the obvious. It's annoying."

The small boy let himself be dragged along by Sherlock out of the school gates and up the long road leading away from the school.

John bit his lip to stop him from crying out in surprise as Sherlock harshly pulled him into a dark alley.

"Shh someone's coming." He whispered, pressing John flat to the wall.

"No one's coming. You're being-"

Sherlock's hand wrapped around his mouth.

A boy a bit younger than the two teenagers stood at the mouth of the alley staring at them. He had dark hair and a suspicious smile. Snapping a picture of the two people he ran off, leaving the two boys to contemplate what the hell had happened.

Immediately Sherlock dived into a state of serenity, freezing in time. Still pressing John to the wall.

Coughing uncomfortably, John tried to manoeuvre himself out of Sherlock's personal space. He succeeded and managed to pull Sherlock along to the road in which he hailed a taxi into town.

* * *

A/N Second chapter down wooohooo some plot starting to work its way into here and im getting excited. These chapters arent very long but don't worry I shall update soon (she says realising suddenly that she probably won't) but please enjoy and maybe leave a review **hint** **hint. .. **


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Graphic description of a dead person,

The shop was small. In fact it was the smallest shop John had ever seen. The sign was small, the door was small and the clothes looked huge even though they were of a normal size. It sat on the corner of a quiet street and in comparison with other shops, even though it was the smallest, looked to be doing better than all of them combined. It was clean, tidy, well stocked, and had what looked like a steady influx of trade.

It was this shop that Sherlock had dragged John over to, despite the protests and persuasion to go to a cheaper looking shop - just because the shop was small, didn't make it look less classy and expensive, and John did not have the money for classy and expensive, in fact he only had the money for cheap and comfortable. Sherlock probably deduced it, though, seeming that John only wore cheap jumpers and second hand uniform. But they walked into it anyway.

The door dinged as they entered and a lady came over to them brandishing a cup of tea in one hand and a biscuit in the other.

"Hello, my dear, what may I do for you today?" She asked kindly looking fondly at Sherlock, then at John with surprise.

Sherlock smiled and said, "We are in need of black clothing, Mrs Hudson. Special assignment. Top secret."

Mrs Hudson beamed, "Of course, of course, would you like to have a cuppa or do you want to just shop and go?"

"Shop and go, we need time to plan."

The lady's face fell slightly, "Well then, if you need me I will be by the desk- and before I go, who have you brought along?"

"Hello, I'm John, John Watson." John smiled at the lady.

Mrs Hudson's grin could not get any bigger. The expression was a mixture of pride and affection mixed into one.

"Don't let me keep you, off you go and get what you need."

Mrs Hudson walked to her desk leaving John and Sherlock standing in the doorway of the shop.

Looking towards the back of the shop John spotted a small section of black. He turned around to face Sherlock but Sherlock had already started to walk over to it.

"Follow me John!" He called over his shoulder.

Huffing, John followed obediently.

But by the time John had gotten to Sherlock, the genius had already had a few clothes picked out and proceeded to throw them onto John's arms.

"Try this one, John... No wait, this one is better. Oh! This would look great!" Sherlock said, lobbing another item onto Johns overcrowded pile of clothing. Sherlock then spotted an expensive Italian leather belt and proceeded to throw that on the pile as well. John groaned under the weight of the clothes and shuffled after Sherlock as he spotted yet another item of clothing.

* * *

John felt silly. No wait, that was an understatement. John felt utterly ridiculous. He was dressed in black skinny jeans held up with a black leather belt, a tight black shirt, a black leather jacket, and his hair stuck in a black beanie. It may seem like an alright style of clothing but the skinny jeans left nothing to the imagination and the shirt buttons looked like they were going to pop! Never mind, thought John, at least I won't be the only one. He glanced over at Sherlock who was trying on a large Belstaff coat and smiling to himself as he saw that it fitted.

As John gazed at Sherlock, he had failed to notice the door to the shop open and failed to notice who had come in. Turning back to face away from Sherlock, he was faced with the muscular body of the school tormentor.

"Now look who we have here, boys." He growled, waving over the rest of the gang, "Was that the guy you were with yesterday? I bet it is. Is he your boy friend? You little fag."

John cowered away, tears threatening to breach the safety of his eyes.

The buff guy turned around to see Sherlock staring at them with his intensely green eyes.

"That's him right? Oh my God. You have no idea what's in store for you when you get back to school."

He walked forward and grabbed John by the collar of his shirt, "You come anywhere near me or my gang then you is going to get beaten up so bad you won't be able to walk for a month. You got that you little shit? I said, you got that?"

John gulped and nodded. He was let down roughly and fell on hard floor with a grunt.

The bully walked out the shop after seeing Mrs Hudson's stare of disapproval, leaving John crying and terrified. Sherlock walked over worried and his face clouded in thought. He pulled John up and awkwardly tapped Johns shoulder, "Are you okay John? Did they hurt you, or do anything else of a violent nature?" Sherlock asked urgently, suddenly overcome with a need to protect his friend. The feeling he felt a few days ago rose once more into his chest, tugging at his throat.

John replied simply, "I'm... fine. Completely-"

He then rushed into Sherlock. The taller boy shifted in the tight embrace feeling very awkward and out of place, he then moved his arms around John's waist and gently patted his back - disjointedly at first then it became more natural. John buried his head into the crook of Sherlock's neck and rested it there as he sobbed, but after a minute or two the sobs slowly left his body. He looked to Sherlock and stepped away quickly,

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He looked down at his shoes unable to make eye contact.

"It's okay John. I-I deduced what has gone on before. What is his name?"

"I don't want to say, can we just leave it?"

"Okay, and don't worry. I have paid for your clothes. I'll hail a taxi. Change into your normal clothes and meet me outside." Sherlock turned swiftly and left the shop.

John changed and gathered his belongs.

* * *

John invited Sherlock into his living room and they both sat down on the sofa with a contented sigh.

Putting down his bags, John asked,

"Right, how do we get in to the morgue?"

It was the most intelligent thing he could think of to say at that moment in time.

Sherlock sat forward on his armrests and put his hands together excitedly, he started smiling like an excited young child.

"Through the back door. My brother, Mycroft, has agreed to help me with this venture, which is strange, he never usually interferes with what I do. Maybe it is because I have found someone that can tolerate me. Then again he could be pretending to look over me just because Mummy-"

John stopped listening at that point, he could tell he had lost Sherlock to thinking aloud. Great, he thought, why does he have to ramble off like this? John looked at empty space and sighed and rested his head on his arm. Why did he attract these types of people? It was only last week that a guy called Moriarty started to talk to him and then wondered off into his own mind and started to think aloud in his presence. If he didn't think that Moriarty was mad then he would think that him and Sherlock could be great but dangerous friends.

John continued to look vaguely at Sherlock as he continued his prolonged ramble and when he finally stopped he posed another question, hoping for a shorter answer.

"What if anyone hears a noise and comes in? Surely if cleaners or who ever will be around would hear us and walk in on us."

Sherlock looked at John again with a look of pure delight on his face. "The coolers, or the refrigerator draws where they store the bodies. They are kept at very low temperatures so it would be wise to share one so we can share body heat. The body can be left on the table- the cleaners will leave it."

John was satisfied with the answer he got, but he wasn't the least bit comfortable with sharing a cooler with him. The all round closeness with bodies being pushed against each other and the fact that they could be found like that was terrifying. It would end his life officially. He thought his social life could not get any lower and well, now there was a possibility that it could.

John clasped his hands together as Sherlock close his eyes and tilted his head back in thought, John thought about making some dinner but he wouldn't have enough time for it to digest before they had to go to the morgue. They did have to walk there after all. And anyway it didn't look like Sherlock was that hungry. After deliberating for a while he decided to make them both tea. Tea would settle his nerves and hopefully calm down Sherlock.

"Want some tea?" John asked expectantly.

"Yes please. Black, no sugar" Sherlock said nonchalantly and waved his hand in the direction of John.

* * *

"So..." John started, since when was it so hot in here? "Should we start walking? Or should we wait around a bit longer? Your call Sherlock." John twiddled his hands anxiously for Sherlock's reply. The anticipation for what they were about to do sunk in.

Sherlock nodded and walked out of the door. John fell into step behind Sherlock and shoved his hands into his pockets and breathed out. It was a frosty night and he could see his breath as he exhaled. After about five minutes of walking down the dimly lit streets, John started to shiver and he slowed down his pace to compensate. The taller boy kept walking but he missed the presence beside him and turned to see a shivering John Watson.

He ran over to the older boy.

"Are you okay John?" it sounded like a stupid question, and it was, but John was grateful and  
responded through chattering teeth.

"I'm j-j-just a b-bit cold. N-Nothing to worry about." John tried to force a smile but it looked out of place on his blue lips. Without a second thought Sherlock took off his huge coat that he had bought earlier that day and hung it around John's shoulders. It smelt musky- like Sherlock. John nodded thankfully, smiled to himself, and started to walk again. The length of the coat and the over-sizedness of it all made it a bit more difficult to walk, but eventually they made it to the morgue in good time without any mishaps.

Sherlock looked around the area to check for people watching then opened the back door to the morgue (which was open) and looked inside, gesturing for John to follow after him. Once inside Sherlock opened a map up in his mind to locate the body. Finding it, he pulled John along as they sneaked through endless corridors and every so often having to stop to check for people following them. Soon, though, they reached the room where the body was being kept.

The body was still laid on the table. It had lacerations about three inches long in a herringbone pattern all down its torso to the very last toe, and the face... The face was horrifying. The bottom jaw was missing and the eyes had been gouged out. In place of the eyes were two 20 sided dice and the rest of the face burnt beyond recognition, blisters covering every inch of skin. Sherlock's eyes fell to the neck, the initials J.W and S.H. were carved into it and he fell back straight away. Sherlock knew there was a message but never one that involved him. John looked over at the body and fell backwards retreating too quickly and falling. He could now see why they didn't want Sherlock to see the body - they were protecting him.

John got up and stood in shock by the doorway, looking out for anyone who might cause them trouble. Never in his short life had he thought he was going to throw up at the sight of a body. Never. But after seeing the mutilations on the dead man's corpse, it was going to be hard to keep his tea down.

_Click, click, click._

It sounded like someone in heels.

_Click, click, click._

The sound was getting louder and louder. John knew then that they were going to have to get in one of the body coolers or they would get caught.

Grabbing Sherlock by his arm, he threw open a cooler and shoved him in first, before climbing in after and closing it.

The clicking of shoes was almost at the door now and both of the boys were anxious for the person to enter.

Sherlock looked into John's eyes through the darkness and whispered in a quiet voice, "Don't make a sound."

John hid his face into Sherlock's shoulder as the taller boy snaked his arms around his waist in a comforting manner.

"Who's there? I know you're in here."

It was a female voice (which explained the clicking noises of her shoes).

John tried to steady his breath as the waited for a reply. Sherlock fidgeted underneath him making the cooler creak. Both boys sucked in a sharp breath of air. It was a fatal mistake. The lady clicked towards them quickly and opened the cooler above them,

"Ew, it's just the corpses making sounds again - why would my mum ever want to work here? It's disgusting."

The girl cursed again as she slammed the door making a loud noise.

John grabbed Sherlock's shoulders tighter and Sherlock squeezed John. The older boy breathed in deeply onto Sherlock's chest, it smelt musky and distinctively of Sherlock.

John pretty sure that the lady had gone but he didn't want to leave the cooler. Yes, it was pretty cold but the heat from Sherlock made up for it.

Turning over to face John, Sherlock smiled to himself. He had a boy lying on top of him and displaying affection and he was enjoying it. Never in his life had Sherlock even considered having a friend but now the thought of having friends was a good prospect. His short-cut through the alley had been a good decision after all.

He returned Johns affection by cuddling up to him in the same way but it was starting to get very cold so they needed to get out of there.

"As pleasant as this may be, I am cold and I know for a fact you are too. Push it open will you, my arms are trapped and yours are free." Sherlock explained to John. He tried to push on the door but it wouldn't budge. No matter how hard he pushed it would not give. Sighing in frustration Sherlock thought out loud,

"We came in at 2:00am, so the next person to come in would be... about 5:00am... Great."

Sherlock withdrew his arms from John to hit the ceiling of the cooler just before a male voice sounded. Neither of the boys had heard the person come in.

"Sally said she heard a voice in here... Hmm... Let's see... Found you!" The man walked over to the cooler where John and Sherlock were cuddling/hiding and pulled it open swiftly.

The guy gasped when he saw who was in there and then started to laugh. Sherlock, the boy who had tried to break into many a crime scene was hiding in a cooler unit with another boy. Wait, were they cuddling? He couldn't wait to tell his father.

"Sherlock."

"Lestrade."

John climbed off Sherlock, his face blushing crimson, and helped Sherlock up. They looked at Lestrade sheepishly. It wasn't the best circumstances to be acquainted by any standards.

"John." John stuck out a hand to be shook.

Taking the hand timidly, Lestrade shook it firmly.

"My name is Greg, but please call me Lestrade, oh, and please do not break in again. It causes all sorts of troubles and I really don't want my father to be stressing over this incident. But I can't let you go. I'm sorry but if there isn't a struggle I'm going to get into trouble." He lowered his voice into a whisper, "Escape the way you came in, just punch me and I'll fall down and let you get out. CCTV is every where."

Lestrade put up his guard but before he even blinked, Sherlock punched him hard on the nose. Grabbing John and puling him out of the room, they ran into the vast network of corridors.

The taller boy looked at John who was lagging behind, "Hurry up or we will get caught! And pull the balaclava back down!"

John puffed himself up then took off at a run.

The back door was almost upon them and Sherlock turned to John, "Kick it down, they must have locked it!"

Being a good little soldier he kicked it open.

After they were outside the two boys turned down a small alley way to catch their breath. John and Sherlock looked at each other smiling before breaking out in a fit of giggles. Leaning against the wall of the alley John turned to talk to Sherlock.

"Want to stay round my place tonight? I have enough room and I'm not going to go to school tomorrow. Not after what happened today."

"Hmm... okay. Can I borrow some of your clothes?"

"Sure."

* * *

A/N yay a longer chapter and more development! And just a warning shit goes down in the next chapter but it is shorter... Please tell me I did okay with this because I really want to know. Oh and I watched Third Star yesterday and I cried so much I forgot to post this chapter but anyhow... :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Hi! Thank you for the reviews and follows. It gives me a lot of encouragement. Please enjoy this chapter and I'm kind of sorry for how it ends. Oh! And I would like to know if I'm going to fast, too slow or just right because I'm finding it hard to tell. So please send me a comment, it doesn't have to be big at all. Please read, review, favourite. I only own the plot, nothing else.

* * *

John and Sherlock wandered silently through the front door at around 4 o'clock in the morning, covered in sweat from running and very tired.

Going up to the bedroom, they sleepily made their way up the stairs, stumbling as if they were drunk.

In the bedroom John rummaged for some pyjama bottoms to give to Sherlock. Finding some the right size he threw them over his shoulder, grumbling for him to put them on.

Lazily John found his own Pjs and peeled off his sticky clothing, ignoring the looks from Sherlock, and slipped on his night clothes.

John glanced towards Sherlock. The boy was in the middle of getting dressed and in the dim glow of the room, he could just make out the mottled bruising of the boy's back contrasting with pale hue of the rest of his skin. In the dim light of the room, it looked as though he was a ghost.

Finally ready for bed, John caught Sherlock's eye, "You can sleep next to me if you like."

"I know." Sherlock said abruptly, his voice leaking with a fatigue.

Moving the covers to make space, John slid onto the bed and made room for Sherlock.

"Are you getting in or what?" John mumbled sleepily, looking over at Sherlock, whom wore a vacant expression.

Snapping out of it, he jumped into action and hurriedly got in the bed beside John.

"I was thinking about the body. And goodnight." Sherlock said as he turned over to put his back to John smiling.

Sherlock heard a faint reply, but he was enveloped by sleep before it was finished.

* * *

A gunshot whizzed past Sherlock's ear. And then another. Thoughts like lightening, he realised the shots were not aimed at him but rather someone ahead of him. Opening his eyes he saw a dead body. Nausea rising in his throat, he immediately recognised it as John.

The mutilations, in which covered the body in the morgue, now started to appear on John's lifeless body. First the lacerations piercing through the skin. Second the eye balls being replaced with dice. Third the face being burnt. And last the initials being carved into the body. But something was different. Something was wrong. John's initials were not there.

Crimson blood poured out of the lacerations of his body and he started to shake violently and convulse.

Sherlock watched as if tied to the spot. His innocent eyes were forced open by some imaginary force. Willing his eyes to look away, he tried to physically leave the scene- but he couldn't. Eyes crying for help, he mentally tried to tug at his bonds. Black tears poured down his cheeks, mapping a path down his body and landing in a lucid pool by his feet.

"Sherlock!" A voice called urgently from the sky.

The boy in question tried to look up, but he couldn't. Breathing out of control and his heart out of control he willed himself to wake up- but he couldn't.

The voice sounded again. But this time he started to shake.

Luckily the scene before him became foggier and foggier, the body becoming more obscure, until his eyes opened to see a worried John holding his shoulders.

Relief washed over his face.

"Oh my God Sherlock!" John said, "Are you okay? You were thrashing around and crying in your sleep."

Sherlock sat up confused and upset by the dream.

"I'm fine, John. I... Just had a nightmare, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

John looked at Sherlock disbelievingly and rolled his eyes, "Don't give me that crap Sherlock, you may be a genius, but I know better."

Sherlock fiddled with his slender hands. The dream puzzled him, but it was only a dream. It wouldn't happen in real life- would it? And caring was a disadvantage. Or that's what his brother taught him any way.

John?

John.

John was the one that mattered now; he was engraved into his brain. But the images. The images they...

Sherlock rushed into John's chest. Sitting up in bed was an awkward position but nevertheless it was reciprocated with a strong embrace.

"What ever you dreamt about, it will be okay. Dreams won't come true." John whispered in Sherlock's ear.

Chest to chest there was no clothing barrier- John could feel Sherlock's heart against his own. It was erratic, and then it momentarily stopped, before starting again normally. Strange.

Pulling away just as quickly, Sherlock apologised, "I'm sorry for that. I couldn't control myself."

The covers pooled at their abdomens, it was the perfect place for Sherlock to fiddle with the hem.

Slipping his hand into Sherlock's twitching fingers, John said,"I think we should get up now, don't you Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded then hesitated as the door was opened.

A lady in her forties, clad in a smart black skirt, a white button up blouse and a black blazer stood menacingly, glaring at the sight before her with a fury that she could not control. Her eyes were a raging inferno in which stole the water vapour out of the air, making it hard for any one within a ten metre radius to withstand and then... And then she opened her mouth and the tempest was released.

"How dare you." She started quietly, barely a whisper, "How dare you betray my trust and do.. do.. do something so heinous and sinful." She started to get louder, "I thought Harriet would have been a big enough example for you. A big enough deterrent. But I don't think I succeeded. Did I? And who is this guy? Huh? Did you pay him? I bet you did. You are such an ungrateful little brat, we did not raise you to be this way. Did we? No!"

The tempest that possessed the women left her with only a few gusts of wind, but they were still hurricane force, "I shall give you a choice. The same choice I gave Harriet. Stay here and stay a part of this family, or keep believing that you are in love with this boy and leave with him. I will give you half an hour. I hope you make the right decision."

She left the room, gusts of wind following her.

John started shaking, his eyes watered, then the door slammed and flood gates opened. Sobs racked his body and tears poured down his face. Pulling up his knees up to his chest, he hugged them. He had to make the right choice, even if it meant that he would never see the one person who needed him most

But he had to make a choice, he had to be better than Harriet.

* * *

It was heart breaking for Sherlock to watch Johns face think through all possibilities. Why did all his friends leave him? Why did they have to be completely eradicated from his life just as friendships had to develop?

Memories of the last few days would be etched in his mind forever. He couldn't erase them, no, he could, but he wouldn't. He would treasure them for the rest of his life, even though it would torment him to the point of no return and even after death, he would still be longing for John. Never has his loyalty to someone ever run so deep.

But a point flashed through his mind. The body, the message. The closer he was to John, the more he was at risk.

He couldn't let John suffer with a decision like this. He had to make the decision himself.

Sherlock knew what he was going to do.

Taking John's other hand he shook them gently, forcing the other boy into eye contact, "John, live a normal life with your family. I will leave. I chose this not you. It's not fair on you."

Sherlock got up and pulled on his clothes slowly. John watched helplessly as the best friend that he had ever had walked out of his room and walked out of his life. He couldn't say anything, he couldn't even cry. Tears were not going to fall.

The slamming of the door woke John from the shock and he let out a barely audible whisper as a rebellious tear rolled down his cheek, "Good bye, my friend."

A/N (HEHEHE)... To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

"John Watson, I asked you a question. What is the square root of 169?" The teacher calmly said.

John jumped from his day dream and drearily answered. His mind was on Sherlock again. It was rarely off of his mind. He would do absolutely anything to see his face again, to see his smile.

Sherlock had been gone for three weeks now. Three weeks without ever seeing his best friend- his only friend. No one would speak to him now. Not even Molly, and Molly used to stand by John no matter what. And he was fine with that arrangement too. Fine. Just fucking marvellous.

Ever since they departed ways he told no one of what had occurred. It was that withholding of information which made Molly break the friendship off. She hung about with Greg now, but he hadn't said anything about the morgue to her.

But John was coping on his own. Everything was fine. 

_Liar..._

It was a lie he told himself all too often. A lie which gave him the strength to get up in the morning without wanting to crawl back in and let the sun pass overhead day after day. A lie which would get him through the name calling, the rumours and above all else the intense loss he was experiencing. Lies were his way of telling everyone he needed help.

***

John walked through the door after a very long day at school. It was almost half term, but it didn't feel like it. He ran to his room and closed the door and sat down behind it, running his hands through his hair.

He was on house arrest until he was 18. It turns out that the neighbours saw John holding hands with Sherlock and alerted John's mother making her take an impromptu visit.

Usually during his long evenings he would get on with the menial task of homework. But that day he had an urge, a very exciting, dangerous, urge. His mother would be off to work for at least a week and a half, all half term, and he would be left on his own, well, the neighbours would check on him every few hours. Other than that though, he was alone.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted Sherlock, keeping his back firmly against the door. 

-Look, my mother will be out next week. What she said was unfair. I have been thinking. We need to talk x J-

Pressing send he held his phone loosely and stared at the wall.

After half an hour of waiting, John resigned himself to thinking Sherlock wasn't going to reply so he pulled out his maths book and did some homework.

Continuing on in that fashion for the rest of the evening, John missed dinner and cleared the back log of work that had been building up for a week.

While getting ready for bed, John heard his phone buzz. Forgetting about his insubordinate text earlier, he left it. In his mind it was someone taking the Mick.

Slipping into bed he set his new alarm clock, ready for the next day.

_Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, bu-_

There was a loud crash as John threw his alarm across the room, successfully silencing it and smashing it simultaneously. Seeming as his alarm clock wasn't available to tell him the time, he glanced at his phone.

Something caught his eye, not the time, the little text icon in the top corner of his phone. Memories rushing back from the day before flew through his brain. Opening without delay, he inhaled in suspense.

-Thank you, I shall go and wait in your shed. Come ASAP. X S-

The text had been sent at half ten the night before. Had Sherlock spent the night in the shed?

Mentally slapping himself John shoved some shoes on and checked his mother had gone to work, before he sprinted into the garden. Feet pounding on the grass, he wondered why Sherlock hadn't heard his stomping feet and come out yet.

Undoing the lock, he flung open the flimsy door to see a rugged looking Sherlock sleeping on the floor of the shed, covered by his Belstaff coat. Dirt was covering him and blood had crusted on his pale face.

Sighing, John entered the shed and knelt down by Sherlock's head.

"Sherlock, wake up. It's John." John said softly.

Sherlock looked up wearily to the sound of the voice, "Took your time..." He mumbled sleepily.

Laughing, John helped Sherlock stand up, letting the coat fall to the floor. He picked it up and handed it to Sherlock. An awkward silence permeated around the shed.

"Come inside," John started after the silence marinaded around the room for a while, "You look like you need a shower and a change of clothes. How long have you been sleeping rough? And what happened to your face?"

Sherlock didn't answer, just moved his head to display his neck.

Gasping, John eyes widened and bile rose in his throat. The initial M was carved onto neck on the right hand side, next to the jugular artery. A millimetre to the left and Sherlock would be dead.

John fell back a few steps and clutched at his chest as his heart hammered fervently.

"Dear God Sherlock. Who the hell did that to you?"

"Moriarty."

Another tense silence followed and John couldn't do anything but stare into space.

Sherlock was the first one to move and led the shell-shocked John by the hand into the house.

The house was silent. The kitchen was immaculate. And stood in the middle of it was the bloody and beaten Sherlock Holmes. He observed the kitchen quietly, ignoring John as he pottered around shakily making tea, and found out his mother would be gone for a prolonged period of time... Again. But something was different. Something was off.

"The neighbours will be here soon to take me to school." John said as he handed Sherlock a cup of tea, "I doubt they would like it if they saw you so just stay in my room until I have gone, okay? Then you can have a shower and I think you know where the first aid kit is if you need it. Oh, and you can stay tonight if you want."

Nodding, Sherlock responded in a dull monotone, "Sure. But something feels off. I suspect someone is watching the house."

John huffed, "No one is watching the house. You are being paranoid. Now lets go upstairs, I need to get ready for school."

-line break-

After John departed for dreaded school, Sherlock showered and checked his body for injuries. He still hadn't told John about why he was in such a bad condition. But John didn't ask so he didn't tell. He wouldn't want to scare away his only friend.

So as the water cascaded down his bruised body and the blood, diluted in the water, washed down the drain, he thought about the case.

Moriarty was a dangerous person; that much was a give fact. He had a thing for mutilating people. Or well at least getting people to do the deeds for him. That would take time and money though, so he must be rich. By what means? Theft most probably-

BOOM!

A gun shot rang out across the street. A thud.

Sherlock grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, before sprinting his sopping wet body down the stairs and peering out of the window.

Did someone get shot?

Did a murder just occur?

No, it was just a car back firing and a door slamming.

Cursing at his eagerness he moved his dripping wet body onto the armchair in the front room and sat on it, thinking.

-Line break-

After another tormenting day at school, John couldn't wait to be back at home with Sherlock. Shouting a thanks to his neighbours, he walked through the front door and dropped his bag by his shoes (he would pick them up later). Walking past the living room door he did a double take. Was Sherlock sitting there in just a towel?

He moved himself into the room and stared at Sherlock. The curly haired boy was zoned out and his towel had slipped almost obscenely down his abdomen.

"Ahem." John said rather embarrassed.

No response.

"Ahem!" John said louder, almost shouting.

A loud grunt of annoyance was heard from Sherlock and John laughed as the boy aggressively tried to keep his modesty.

Standing up, clutching the towel, Sherlock's face bloomed red with embarrassment.

John laughed, "Look," he said, "I don't even want to know what you were doing. Just put some comfortable clothes on while I go and find something to dry the chair."

When Sherlock had came back down, John was sitting on the two seater watching a film and eating some popcorn. John made a gesture for Sherlock to sit beside him.

"Come here Sherlock. I hope you don't mind. I put the new Star Trek movie on."

"It's acceptable." Sherlock smirked.

Laughing, John moved over to let Sherlock sit beside him. The extra weight made the chair creak, but it didn't do much else.

"So," John started, "Are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?"

Sherlock took some popcorn and placed it delicately in his mouth. After he finished eating it, he said, "I don't think you want to know."

"Just tell me. It can't be as bad as the body we saw." John countered.

Sighing, Sherlock put his feet on the couch, "All right, I will tell you. You might want to pause the film, though."

John paused the film.

"When I left this house I was abducted by two men in balaclavas. I couldn't see their faces, nor anything about their identity as they placed a woollen scarf around my eyes. The woollen scarf held no clues as to who they were so I had to really on smell which didn't get me very far as I was shoved in an old van, which clouded my nose with the putrid stench of petrol, and taken to an old ware house, or something of the sort. Then I was tied to a table. I didn't try to escape as I didn't know where I was. A women came up to me after approximately five minutes and held my face and stroked my neck, before skilfully engraving the M onto my neck. She then said "Moriarty," very, very carefully and then she left.

"As she left, I tensed up my wrists- you see, if you tense your arm then it becomes easier to get out of bonds,- and I slipped one of my wrists out carefully. It was only then when I took off my blindfold that I noticed the blood pouring down my neck so I used to scarf to mop up the blood. The women then left the door open, possibly on purpose, so I got out and took shelter with some homeless people.

"But, of course, if you live on the streets there is going to be trouble, so a few people ganged up on me every night. I beat them of course but I took a few punches first. I got your text though. I checked my phone once a day, just before my nightly fights, turning it off straight after so it keep its charge. So there you go. That's my story."

It was the way that he said it which made it seem almost believable, but it wasn't the whole truth. There was something about it. Something strange.

John's face paled slightly and... and then it clicked. Why was he spending so much time with this mysterious boy? Anyone would have just called the police, but John wasn't anyone. Like a jigsaw coming together, all of the pieces fell into place.

He lent forward, grabbing the back of Sherlock's neck, carefully missing the healing wound and brought their lips together in a short, chaste kiss.

Sherlock's eyes widened and a blush rushed through his face. Awkwardly John blushed too, quickly apologising.

"You don't need to apologise." Sherlock replied as he smashed his lips onto John's, pushing John backwards so that he was on top of him. Teeth clashed together and inexperienced tongues mingled in a messy heat. John's hands wandered all over Sherlock's body, over back, ghosting along his protruding ribs and cautiously on the damaged neck, before finally tangling in the curly black mess of hair.

Sherlock groaned into the kiss, hands either side of John's face as he tried to lean on his knees so he wouldn't crush the smaller boy. A few weeks ago he never thought that he would even see John again, but now he was kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

John moaned as Sherlock started to press kisses onto his neck. Pushing on Sherlock's head in pleasure as he felt him nip and suck at the pulse point intended to leave a mark. Wincing slightly as Sherlock bite down on his neck John came back to reality, he pushed Sherlock up and off of him, leaving a trail of saliva from his neck to Sherlock's plump, flushed lips.

Noticing Sherlock's slightly disappointed face, John said, "I stopped you because now I'm going to have to hide a hickey from my mum. You know what she is like and... Well I would hate for her to ruin this."

Slightly more relived Sherlock smiled, "Yes that would be a shame."

He leaned in again to kiss John but strong hands stopped him, "It's time for dinner, and we need to talk some more."

Sighing, Sherlock got up from John and sat on the armchair pouting.

John disappeared into the kitchen and when he came back, two warm bowls of instant noodles were in his hands.

Passing one bowl to Sherlock, he said, "Sherlock, you literally ruined my life and yet I have found myself kissing you to within an inch of your life. I don't know what to make of that. I would have swore on my mother's life that I wasn't interested in guys, yet I made the first move."

"Quite," Said Sherlock finishing his mouthful of food, "I shall have to write that down as one of the most important discoveries ever made. Of course I already knew you were interested in guys. I just never said anything because you would have just denied it. Oh, and that Mark who used to follow you, wasn't a stalker. You led him on. Even that stupid Anderson guy could see that."

John looked at Sherlock puzzled.

"How the hell did you know who Mark was? And who is Anderson?"

"I have my resources and Anderson is just a kid trying and failing to be an adult."

"Hmm..." John said, unsure, "Okay, and we still haven't finished the film. After we finished eating though."

Sherlock nodded and continued to pick at his food.

-Line break-

Dirty dishes in the sink and pyjamas on, the two teenagers sat on the sofa in each others arms fast asleep. The film had finished an hour ago and the title menu of the DVD lit up the room, bathing them in a gentle aura of light.

-Line break-

John woke up first to a mess of curly hair tickling his neck. He couldn't stop himself from giggling and the erratic movements of his chest soon awoke Sherlock. Gazing down, John smiled to himself. Sherlock smiled back wearily and lazily pushed his lips onto John's. Surprised, but not repulsed by this action, John reciprocated and licked along the bottom of Sherlock's lips. The raven haired boy responded idly and opened his mouth, not bothering to fight for dominance. He moaned at the taste of John's tongue in his mouth and moved his hands around John's neck. John moaned and propped himself up to get better access to Sherlock's mouth.

A loud cough caught their attention and John shoved Sherlock onto the other side of the sofa.

Then a young man, only about twenty years old, walked into the room, swinging a black umbrella.

"Good morning boys. I hope all is well. I can certainly see you are quite happy." The man said, sitting on the armchair and turning the TV off.

John flushed red, but Sherlock stared daggers at the man.

"Now, now brother. I am here to help." The man reprimanded.

_Brother... That man who had just walked in on us is Sherlock's brother? _John thought.

"Yes, I am his brother, John. Now," He turned to Sherlock. "I brought you some clothes, your toothbrush and a few other 'things'. Now I know you want to stay here but mother says you must come home ASAP. But I think I can make arrangements for you to be picked up on Sunday."

Sherlock just grunted.

"Well then, I shall go. A pleasure meeting you Mr. Watson."

John just looked at the man. So Sherlock wasn't the only weird one.

A/N Well Sherlock is back and they kissed and Mycroft and an extra long chapter! Lucky you guys. The plot thickens... you can review favourite and follow if you want but it is by no means necessary, I have figured out the pacing so phew... ^wipes brow^ hope you enjoyed. And I apologise for lateness, I am quite busy on weekends.


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